Shades of Color
by autumnsbeginning
Summary: Even after ten years, Heidi is having trouble with her mother's death. She's wondering why God would take her mother away from her, but what she doesn't realize is that God has a valuable lesson for her to learn through all of it.
1. Prologue

_Ignorance has wronged some races_

_And vengeance is the Lord's_

_If we aspire to share this space_

_Repentance is the cure_

_DC Talk_

**Prologue**

I grew up in a very small farming town in California. My family, the Holts, owned a tiny farming business that they liked to call 'Holt Harvesters'. I thought it was the neatest thing, growing up on a big huge farm, with hills and so much land to run and play on. That was, however, until I grew old enough to work.

By the time I was five I was riding in the tractors with my father. I thought this was wonderful, too, sitting up high with my tiny car seat strapped to the huge armrests (which really aren't as big as I thought they were, but compared to the five-year-old me, those things were giants). Dad would sit there all day with me beside him in the tractor, telling me about everything around the farm and how this, that, and the other thing works. By the time I was eight, I knew just about how everything around the farm worked.

When I was eight I spent most of my time during the summers tagging along with Dad and Haley, my older sister, as they did things around the farm. That meant irrigating, hauling the irrigation pipes and hooking them together, and much, much more. One thing I loved was when gophers dug holes around the ditches and it would be like a big puzzle for the three of us, trying to figure out which hole went to which and trying to cave them in so water wouldn't leak out anymore. Little did I know that this was Dad's least favorite of all tasks. I had thought the entire thing was a game, when in fact we paid for all the water we got for the crops, and gophers meant losing at least a fourth of that water.

I was driving by my tenth birthday. No, not real driving, but going three miles per hour and pulling the irrigation pipe trailer behind me in the old beat up red truck. This was all on our property, with Haley and Dad throwing pipe off the trailer, one by one, and coming back to hook it all up later. I thought I was pretty important; sitting behind that great big wheel with the seat all scooted up so my feet could reach the petals.

Not until I was twelve did I learn how to shift geers, and by then I was a crazy driver, seeing how fast I could go and yet make a nice, complete, and gentle stop without knocking Haley or any pipes off the back of the trailer.

And throughout all those years, no matter how much work needed to be done or how badly I wanted to drive the red Ford truck, we got dressed in our neatest, nicest outfits to go to church. Mama would always click her tongue when we'd come home at eight, an hour before church started, all muddy and wet from irrigating with Dad.

Then there was that summer when I was thirteen, we'd all come in late at eight-thirty, barely in time for Mama to make us all proper. I already understood that moms and dads fought and that it was just a part of marriage. Mama was mad at Dad for some reason, and they fought about it on the way to church. I was too nervous to think about what they were arguing about.

That was the day I was supposed to play the piano for church, while offering was going on. _As the Deer_ was both mine and Mama's favorite song, and I'd picked a beautiful, low version of it in B flat. I was excited and anxious, but my nerves were going crazy, and I almost felt sick to my stomach. Mama had taught me how to play and told me to be confident and that I'd do a good job, but nothing could calm my frazzled nerves.

And that was when it happened. Dad and Mama's raised voices brought my mind back to present. Dad wasn't paying attention to the road, and his eyes were on Mama. He was angry, and she was glaring right back at him. I didn't know what they were so worked up about.

A car horn blared. Dad swore and Mama gasped. Haley screamed. A flash of metal to my right. And then there was only black.

That was all I remembered, even though I strained to remember more. I replayed those moments over and over in my head. When I closed my eyes, it was like a movie, never stopping. When it came to the end, it would start all over again. When I drifted off to sleep, it would appear in my dreams. When I was trying to concentrate, it would fill my thoughts.

That and the image of Mama in the hospital bed. They'd tried to keep her alive, all of the doctors. We'd sat in the waiting room with pillows, books, things to do while waiting, staying the night sometimes. She was in the ER for a week with a head injury, several broken ribs, a shattered right arm, and worst of all, a fractured back.

I don't remember all of it. It was clear a few years ago, but the details have gotten fuzzy. But the very images of the accident and later the ones of Mama surrounded in the white hospital walls, those images stayed in my head, as clear as water and never leaving me. Like a mental picture book, I could flip through them any time with only a moment's notice. I still can, even though I choose not to.

I never played the piano again.


	2. Chapter 1

_A piece of canvas is only the beginning_

_It takes on character with every loving stroke_

_This thing of beauty is the passion of an artist's heart_

_By God's design, we are a skin kaleidoscope_

DC Talk

**Chapter One**

Our family, as if in remembrance of Mama, always went to church. Faithfully, every single Sunday, with no excuses. We tried to do it cheerfully, but it never happened. Whether it was an elderly woman offering condolences or a look of sympathy from one of her friends, one of us always cried.

I, however, never missed a week. I cried every Sunday when the pianist got up to play for offering. I would bawl my eyes out, thinking it should be Mama up there like old times, playing beautifully for the entire world to hear. She was the most talented piano players, and she knew just about every hymn there was to know, all by heart. She had a wonderful memory.

And now, she _was_ a wonderful memory.

Sometimes I would go to the piano bench and lift it up to see all her music. She played Beethoven, all of those extremely difficult pieces with tons of flats and sharps. I would just sit there and listen to an imaginary Mama play the piano. Every night she used to serenade Haley and me to sleep, leaving our doors open to we could hear the grand piano in the living room, and then closing them after a few long songs. By then we were always asleep.

But I could never touch the keys. I couldn't bring myself to. I knew she was the last person to touch those piano keys, and I kept thinking that if I were to play on them it would be like disrespecting her memory. No matter what Dad told me, no matter how much Haley said she missed me playing, and no matter how much I yearned to play, I just couldn't do it.

Throughout my teenage years I never ever touched that grand piano. I always dusted the top of it to make it look shiny, but only for company. I never touched the keys, whether with a dusting rag or with my own fingers.

The Sunday that I turned twenty, May 25th, my father took me aside. I'd just gotten out of college for the summer, even though I was living at home while driving to my classes fifteen minutes away.

He said, "Heidi, I think it's time you go to a different church."

No longer did I cry every single service, but whenever _As the Deer_ was played, I walked out of the sanctuary. Our small church learned never to play that song as long as I was there, because it would make me cry. It was understandable and couldn't be helped that for the first few years after Mama died that I cried during offering, but they always did what they could to keep me and my family from pain.

I looked up at him, tears gathering in my eyes. "I don't know whether I like that or not, Dad."

He hugged me tight, not for the first time. "I think it's best for you.. There's too much emotion, and I know how it hurts you every week when Eve gives you a hug and tells you how sorry she is about your mother. There are too many memories of your mama, aren't I right?"

"Isn't it a little late?" I asked him, ignoring his question because he already knew he was right and pulling back so I could see his face. I saw only concern there. "I mean, it's been ten years." I didn't say _since Mama died_. It was still too painful to say it out loud, as if I couldn't admit it with my mouth, even after ten years.

I knew the answer. It wasn't too late at all. As long as it was still painful, it would never be too late. And the pain, I already knew, would never go away. "Daddy… am I supposed to move to a different church on my own? Without you? Without Haley?"

Of course, it would be without Haley. She already had her own church, had made that move with her husband a year ago when they got married. Haley was four years older than her and already a teacher with a college degree.

Dad's smile was teasing. "I think you're a big girl, Heidi. You can make it. I think you need it."

But what church was I supposed to move to?

My favorite Christian coffee shop downtown had my answer. As I sat, sipping an iced caramel macchiato as the hot weather blazed on outside, the only other person in the place was the new waitress.

She came over; setting down the rag she was using to wipe off the tables, she asked if she could join me. I wasn't doing anything special, so I told her to "Please do".

I was admiring her dreadlocked dark hair when she stuck out her hand and said, "Hey, I'm Whitney. How d'ya do?"  
"I'm doing pretty well," I answered, scooping up the caramel on the bottom of my plastic cup with the straw. "It's nice to meet you, Whitney. I'm Heidi, and how do _you_ do?"

Whitney smiled. "I'm tired but awesome, as always." She sighed. "This shop always gets so boring during the day. Nobody comes here at noon, so I'm pretty much stuck here alone all day. The real coffee rush comes in the morning, and I don't work then. Too lazy, I always sleep in late." Smile.

"Me too," I agreed with a nod. "You want to come to lunch with me?" I really didn't know where that request had come from. Normally I didn't ask complete strangers to lunch with me. But I figured Whitney was a nice girl, considering not just _anyone_ would apply for a job at a coffee shop that said 'Christian' on the front of the building.

"Of course! Thanks," Whitney said. We ate lunch together at a fast food restaurant, chatting the entire time.

And what did I end up with? An invitation to Whitney's church, which she said was 'awesome'. And what I suspected was going to be an 'awesome' friendship.


	3. Chapter Two

_Just a day in the shoes of a color blind man_

_Should make it easy for you to see_

_That these diverse tones do more than color our bones_

_As a part of our anatomy_

-DC Talk

**Chapter Two**

I walked through the doors of Heights of Love Christian Fellowship that Sunday. I was amazed at the friendly smiles the greeters welcomed me with. A big, tall black guy that would have had me turning on my heels if a grin hadn't transformed his face shook my hand and stuck a bulletin into it.

I whispered to Whitney as we walked into the sanctuary, "You have very friendly people in your church. It's like I've been going here for years the way they seem to invite me on in, even though they've never seen me before."

Whitney frowned. "Your church isn't like that?"

"I guess they're used to me there," I answered. "I've been going there since I was little, and it's not like I'm anything new to them. But here… I feel like… I don't know, like I matter more than I used to at my old church."

The second I walked in the doors to the sanctuary, I was amazed at the variety of people sitting in the pews. White people, black people, I could see some Oriental people, and there were many more. And the strangest thing about it all was that they were all mixed in together, chatting and laughing, sitting and listening to the pre-service music filtering through the speakers.

Never before had I seen so many shades of color. Olive skin tones, dark complexions, and ivory faces all made up some sort of abstract picture. And the one thing that got me more than anything else was that they all acted as if it were normal. I had never seen so many nationalities and skin colors all in one room, and mingling with each other! Before my eyes, a black person embraced a white person, dark clashing against black. They seemed to be good friends and they continued in animated conversation.

I turned to Whitney. She could see the amazement in my eyes and said quietly, "I know what you're feeling. A few years ago when I first set foot in this church, it hit me like that, too. I felt, like you said, that I mattered and belonged here, mostly because anywhere else I felt at odds with the people."

I had noticed that she was dark-skinned, but that hadn't changed the way I wanted to become her friend. It wasn't unusual for two people of different shades of skin to be friends, and nothing like that bothered me, but the scene I was witnessing now seemed like something God had made.

This was how God meant everything to be.

Whitney looked over at me with a smile on her face, as if I had just said something profound. Then I realized that I had. "Did I say that out loud?"

She nodded understandingly. "I feel the same way. It's as if God's smiling down on this little church. I can feel His hand in every ministry we have, and during every board meeting. Even though we're all different on the outside, I think God has taken away the awkwardness. It's amazing how everybody gets along here."

I remembered when I was young when Haley and I would get in huge fights about the littlest things. Eventually I got tired of squabbling over every tidbit that we didn't agree on, and I gave up having my own opinion, at least out loud or when I was around her. My most frequent question I had asked myself during those moments was: "Why can't we all just get along?" I would say the same thing over and over again, sometimes aloud, many times during my life. A lot of those times had been in history class, studying the world wars and revolutions, political catfights gone bad. Two boys fighting over a piece of candy, only each one of them armed with nuclear weapons. A dog attacking another over territory. They were all little things taken to extreme levels.

It was the same way with prejudice. And now, at this church, despite what the outside world would say, black and white people talked and hugged and got to know each other. They got along perfectly most of the time if not all. It was a revolution, if only people would sacrifice their opinions for a few minutes to listen. If only people would forget their selfishness for the sake of peace.

"I loved the music," I told Whitney as we walked down to the basement together for fellowship time. "And the sermon was awesome."

The pastor had been addressing prejudice, just what I'd been thinking about the entire worship service. He spoke strongly and courageously, and I had to admire his passion against racism.

"Did you know that he was the one who started this church?" asked Whitney. When I shook my head, she carried on. "Well, he had to deal with a bunch of horrible stuff just to get it started. He was the one who raised all the funds for the rent of the town hall for the first few years until he could build a church. He put together a worship band and spread the news around town. When the town board—who by the way were all white people—discovered that the church would be working to defeat prejudice and to bring both whites and blacks together to worship, they almost weren't going to give Pastor Matthew the town hall to rent.

"Of course a few people on the board were rooting for us, but it still took a whole lot of convincing to get the town hall for the church. And once it all got off to a start, everything was rough even then. It was as if the whole world was working against our church and against racial diversity," Whitney shook her head. "That's the devil's doing right there. Matthew calls it spiritual warfare, and I think that describes what the church was going through then perfectly. Even after lots of people began to show up at our church, still a lot of those people in our community were against the message that our black and white gatherings sends."

I shook my head and walked over to the coffee counter. "I never really gave much thought to racial diversity. But it just amazes me to see all of this." I gestured to the fellowship area. My heart was about to explode with gratitude to the Lord for this, and I couldn't stop smiling.

Nobody knew what Christian fellowship was until they saw this church. I knew I sure hadn't.


	4. Chapter Three

_Bombarded by philosophies that satisfy the surface_

_I flee to something deeper at the risk of seeking purpose_

_How can I hang in this environmental state of being_

_When everything I'm striving for is nothing that I'm seeing_

-DC Talk

**Chapter Three**

Whitney set the mocha down in front of me as I flipped through a magazine. It was dark in the coffee shop as usual, and The Beatles played softly in the background. She slid into the bar stool beside me and smiled.

"I notice you've been coming here more often around noontime."

I shrugged. "I don't have anything else to do, and my dad didn't force me to get a job this summer. I might have to, though, if I'm going to continue to be this bored."

"Yeah, man, you've got to be _really_ bored to sit here leafing through magazines all day, drinking mocha after mocha and listening to me talk," Whitney shrugged and gestured around her. I guessed her next sentence was going to be about the shop. "This place is a non-profit business, started again by Pastor Matthews."

"Man this guy has a lot of free time," I laughed. "How does this non-profit business work, then, if people still have to pay for their stuff?"

"We only use the money we get to buy more 'stuff' to sell, and to pay the rent and electricity. Any extra money goes to the church or to a trustworthy charity. We have Christian music bands come here all the time; Matthew's a real hard-core rocker. The entrance fees go to support the bands. It's a real ministry and at least one person gets saved during each concert. When we're not rocking and rolling, we're serving coffee," Whitney said. She winked at me. "And guess what? We're in need of another person to do weeknights, from about six to ten and then clean up and closing."

I raised my eyebrows. "Really?" Something inside me told me this was a perfect opportunity, and I realized that my need for a friend wasn't _entirely_ the reason God made me meet Whitney. This coffee shop needed me, and she'd just told me so. "When do I start?"

This sent Whitney off into gales of laughter. She almost fell of her stool in her fit of giggles. When she recovered and had taken a few deep breaths, she told me, "I was hoping you would help me man the place, Heidi, but I didn't expect you to want to do it so soon."

"Like I said before, it's not like I have a tight schedule. I have all the time in the world and what better way to spend it than a good cause like this?" I asked. I looked over at her, smiling.

"Well, you start tonight, then," Whitney replied. "I have to warn you, you get no pay for this whatsoever, unless of course you get tips. And the people are so nice I always get a few tips a day."

"Do you work all afternoon?"

She laughed. "No, of course not. I get to hand off the baton at one, and I come back at six. But there are always more people on Friday nights when we have concerts, so we have more workers then."

"Well, I'll do it then," I said. "Why do you need help on nights? You'd think that people wouldn't drink too much caffeine past six o' clock."

"You're practical," Whitney reminded me. "But you remember those high school summer nights when you stayed up till two or three in the morning hanging out with your friends. High school students from all around always drop in sometime during the evening to get a caffeine boost before heading out with their groups again. We even have a huge crowd of regulars that always come in around nine."

"It's a deal," I checked my watch. "It's time for me to get to meet my sister and her husband for bowling this afternoon. I'll see you at six!"

* * *

I was wiping off a table that a previous customer spilled their whipped cream on when a loud, booming voice shouted, "Hey, Whitney!" I whirled around to see a dark-haired, dark-skinned guy hugging an apron-clad Whitney from over the counter. He was tall and she was short so they were having a time of it.

We'd just finished eating a quick five-thirty-in-the-evening meal before getting to work, and we'd had more visitors that I'd expected.

"Hey, James, I didn't even hear you come in!" Whitney said. She was obviously glad to see this guy, and I wondered if they were involved. Not wanting to impose, I kept wiping down the perfectly clean table with my wet rag.

"I knew you'd be working the evening shift, so I wanted to sneak in and surprise you."

"Well, you surprised me by just being here!" squealed Whitney, coming around the counter to give him a full-fledged squeeze. "Man, what _are_ you doing here?"

"Back for the summer, didn't your mom tell you?" the man obviously called James asked.

"No," Whitney replied. Then, seeming to forget their conversation and remembering about me, she sounded excited all over again as she said, "Oh, and I have a new friend who decided just today she wanted to help me with the evening shift."

I turned around to see Whitney and James coming toward me. I stuck out my hand to him. He shook it firmly, and immediately I was captivated. How on earth he'd managed to inherit the deepest black eyes and the darkest black hair was beyond me. And he was good-looking! I was amazed.

Luckily, before I stood there gawking at him for too long, Whitney's voice brought me back to earth. "She was just so quiet doing her job that I forgot all about her for a few seconds. She's saved my life this evening. We've been quite busy."

I grinned over at her and let James' hand go.

The minute I heard the door close behind James I turned to Whitney with what I'm sure was a very excited look on my face. "Was that your boyfriend?"

Again Whitney exploded with laughter. I counted sixty seconds this time before she fully recovered and was able to speak again. "No, that was my cousin! He's great, isn't he, though?"

I nodded. I didn't know whether to be relieved or confused with her statement, so I didn't say anything.

"He's going to college out of state right now, just like you," Whitney said. "The past two summers he's been going on mission's trips, God only knows how he affords to go on them. Last year he went to China, and oh man the pictures he sent back to us!"

"I barely have enough money for gas!" I exclaimed, regaining my thoughts and voice.

Whitney nodded in agreement just as the infamous group of teenagers came into the coffee shop. I prepared myself for a big order.


End file.
